


Prompt Fills

by tunnelOFdawn



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-08-28 18:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunnelOFdawn/pseuds/tunnelOFdawn
Summary: [1] Can you do a happy fluffy Natsume fic involving winter holidays? If you wanna do shippy I’d like TanuNatsu[2] Can you do Matoba Seiji&Natori Shuuich? Anything is fine[3] What if Tanuma and Matoba were related?[4] Natsume going to Tanuma for help after an injury from a yokai[5] Hello! If you are taking prompt, How about Natori taking Natsume to his actor job and ending being in a scene with him for some random role?? (902 words)





	1. winter tanunatsu

Snow accumulate in piles that teeter in the winter wind. The winter sun is so weak that illumination is an afterthought. The dregs of it linger, desperate to gain a foothold. It’s fingernails scrabbling on a ledge. Only a matter of time before it all ends. But that ending will only be the start of something new. In the winter weather, there comes a yearning for warmth—the warmth of heaters, the warmth of hot drinks, and the warmth of skin on skin.  Winter is a reunion of people. Sometimes it’s a reunion of people you do _not_ want to interact with.

A high-pitched yowl (almost a weirdly human cackle if you listen close) reverberates through the room. Muffled thuds leak outside the enclosed room. An indignant voice shouts out “Sensei!” Within the room, there is a tangle of amber and black hair on a futon with long limbs entwined as a kerosene heater enfolds them in warm bliss. In between two lean forms, a rotund cat purrs happily.

“You’re heavy, cat! Get off!” Takashi cries. A fist rises in preparation of releasing all irritation, only to be gently covered by long fingers. He has his grandmother’s quick temper, Madara thinks. A soft huff of laughter escapes Takashi’s companion, Kaname.

“Deal with it,” Madara grumbles. For such a small creature, there is a heaviness to his form that renders Takashi and Kaname still.  It must be that huge head of his, Kaname muses uncharitably.

“I’d rather _not_ ,” Takashi argues. Kaname watches Takashi and Ponta fondly. These are the best sort of times—when Takashi is so free and unreserved with his emotions. He is always at his most expressive when with Ponta. He never tries to limit himself with a facade of politeness and a reluctance that would bury his heart under layers of well-meaning intentions. When you get to the heart of the matter, Takashi is a passionate person, who feels so much that he had resolved to never again feel the sting of hurt. But these days, Takashi is opening up to family and friends with all the hard-won beauty of a flower blooming after a long winter.

“Naughty boy,” Madara mutters, “cuddling without me—me, your poor, pitiful bodyguard who slaves day after day after your fool self. Me, your lowly, dedicated servant who—”

Takashi laughs. His hands roughly pass over Madara’s not-fur, going against the grain and riling up Madara even more. “You? Poor? Pitiful? Lowly? Dedicated? More like fat off too much sweets and drunk off sake, you glutton!” Takashi teases. “Don’t think I can’t smell the sake off you right now! You’re making the whole room smell and I’m not explaining to Touko-san _again_ why my room smells like alcohol.”  

Madara harrumphs and slides off Takashi’s form entirely in favor of clambering onto Kaname. Kaname obligingly pets him. “See! This is how a _good_ human acts!”

Takashi’s lips twists in a moue of distaste—a pout he will deny ever expressing. He misses Kaname’s hands on him, before Nyanko-sensei had so rudely interrupted with his usual tact, or lack thereof, and bluster.

“Thanks, Ponta,” Kaname murmurs, with a sly look cast at Takashi. His lips curve up and unwillingly, Takashi smiles back.

Takashi does not look forward to shaking off Madara off their trail tomorrow. He always manages to interfere at the precise time he is not needed and wander off when he should not. Takashi wants Christmas Eve to be as enjoyable as possible. He had never thought _before_ that he would get the opportunity to engage in the normal, in the mundane. Christmas Eve is a couples’ holiday and shyly, greedily, Takashi has _plans (_ and if they’re influenced by Touko-san’s dramas and Nishimura’s fumbling advice,  _well_ , Kaname doesn’t have to know).


	2. matoba & natori

She watches blond and black hair intertwine as the black-haired man bends his head to whisper into the blond’s ear. Only the low susurration of the voice reaches her ears, but she finds meaning embedded in the blond’s shifting expressions. The mobility of his face is what makes Natori Shuuichi, her castmate, such a good actor. Though, perhaps, Natori wishes even now that his expressive face could be as composed as his dark companion. He can be stunningly private at times, she knows, but his face always betrays him.

Or maybe she knows Natori well enough to decipher his expressions. After all, Natori Shuuichi and Naoki Hisae are Japan’s most beloved actor and actress. They had even starred in many a film together—an iconic duo. But even after this long together, there is still an insurmountable distance between the two. Oh, he is very friendly and charming but there is an emptiness beneath that facade that does not invite further interaction. In fact, look at him now! He and his brother hold off to the side from the set. Natori does not even introduce his brother to the others. As if he could not bear this infringement on his professional life by his personal life.

“Of course, onii- _sama_ ,” Natori says, clear and audible. There’s a curious inflection on the suffix. Hisae would almost characterize the suffix as a joking formality, if not for the resignation imbuing the suffix. It’s also an odd usage since she’s fairly sure that Natori is the older brother (“My little brother,” he had said with lips that twist, “is very particular.”). His brow has minute furrows running through that belie the conviction in his voice.

Natori’s brother—Matoba Seiji, she finally recalls—separates from Natori. An alien expression crosses Matoba’s fine-boned face. A smile tilts up the corners of his mouth with a chilling mechanical precision. It could just be that Natori’s brother is just socially awkward but maybe, there really is nothing underneath that lovely flesh and bone. Her meager observation of him sends chills down her spine. She cannot comprehend how Natori could have grown up with _that_.

Hisae watches Natori who stares after Matoba’s retreating form. A tension she had not noticed (it rankles to see how unknowable Natori can be) eases off Natori’s shoulders. He lets out a little exhale and his eyes wander away until they meet Hisae’s gaze. A blinding smile lights his face—a luminescence that warms the air around him. He runs a hand through his hair and sets off a few giggles from the huddle of female extras gathered off to the side.

Hisae arches a brow and sidles up to him. “Onii-sama, hmm?” she says. The most refreshing thing about Natori is that she never has to beat around the bush with him. She doesn’t have to charm him because any efforts are futile.

Natori laughs. It is not one of his pretty, charming laughs that enthrall, but rather something rough and gnarled like lightning-struck oak. “When we were kids,” he says wistfully, “Seiji could never abide by being the younger one. He was a spoiled brat—still is. Used to throw tantrums. Always had to get his way.” The fond reminiscence turns into a brotherly disdain that reminds Hisae of her own contentious relationship with her siblings. But there is something darker lurking in that tone of his—the repression of memories arising with each recollection.

Hisae prides herself on her intuitiveness and her people skills. It takes more than beauty and acting skill to get as far in her career as she has. It takes intelligence—emotional intelligence to successfully navigate the perilous acting world. The people who applaud you will just as easily mock you. She thinks Natori has experience with that phenomenon—too much experience.


	3. what if tanuma and matoba were related

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the discussion in the Natsume Yuujinchou discord about how Tanuma and Matoba look similar.

At the end of the school day, Natsume hurries out of the building with scarcely a goodbye to Tanuma. Natsume’s gaze fervently scans to and fro as he scuttles to a very conspicuous black car. It lingers just right outside school grounds. His head ducks into an open window and as Tanuma approaches, he can hear a muffled conversation.  Uncharacteristically, Natsume’s voice is sharp. 

“Natsume?” Tanuma calls out.

Natsume’s head retracts from the car. “Yes?” he answers casually after a moment’s pause. He runs a hand through ruffled hair, hiding his heated face. 

“Who are you talking to?” Tanuma says as he sidles up to Natsume. Forthright, he tilts his head and peers into the car. He stands stockstill.

“Just Matoba...san. He’s a...family friend,” Natsume explains. It’s obvious he is trying to assuage any worries. But that’s of no concern. The concern Tanuma has is— 

“Uncle Seiji?” Tanuma croaks out. “What are you doing here...with Natsume?” His gaze flicks from the dark-haired man in the car to his amber-haired friend. What an odd pairing comprised of dissimilar parties. 

“Uncle Seiji?” Natsume repeats blankly.

A foxlike smile flits over Matoba’s fine features. There is an amusement to his expression that neither Tanuma nor Natsume can replicate. 

“Ahh, Kaname-kun! My, how have you grown. And friends with little Natsume-kun here,” Matoba says with an entirely inappropriate joy and usage of suffixes. 

“Wait, is that the short-sleeved hoodie guy you’ve been complaining about?” Tanuma asks urgently. He looks at Matoba’s current attire—a short-sleeved hoodie that does not match the elegant interior of the car. Uncle Seiji always had weird fashion choices, Tanuma vaguely recalls. He had weird hair too. He remembers tugging on it as a kid, when Matoba himself was just an older child. Uncle Seiji isn’t his actual uncle but rather a distant relation on his mother’s side of the family. It’s actually surreal seeing him in this setting right now, having been so used to seeing him at family reunions or other serious events at the main estate.

“Yes...your uncle,” Natsume responds after a long pause. Utter confusion makes havoc of his face and voice. 

“Oh,” Tanuma says. In that single word, there is so much mortification that Natsume even feels secondhand embarrassment. Tanuma isn’t sure how a person can apologize for their creepy uncle stalking their friend.


	4. quietly we wait for you to awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsume going to Tanuma for help after an injury from a yokai.

At night, the moon is cloaked with clouds and the stars can only shine dimly. For all that the clouds subdue the sky, the land is loud with nighttime activities. A hoot here; a chirp there; a howl here; and a footstep there. A red liquid trails across a forest path. A heave and a gasp of breath echo loud and clear. Something large thuds across the forest in a frantic pace. “Natsume!” a large form cries.

A large yōkai has a slim boy snug on his back. There is no movement but only for the faint rise and fall of a chest. Blood drips from a leg wound. The soft patter of blood on earth only serves to hasten the yōkai’s pace. Eventually, the yōkai stops in front of a modest home. “Oy, Tanuma! Wake up!” the yōkai says. He paws at the door, threatening to knock down the feeble material. He repeats himself until soft footsteps approach the door.

Bleary eyes peer into the darkness. “…Ponta, is that you?” Tanuma says. He blindly gropes about in the air and brushes against fur. He peers up to the sight of Natsume suspended in the air, or rather vaguely resting on an indistinct form. Tanuma curses his weak sight. His eyes follow the slow flow of blood from a clotting wound.

“Take him,” Ponta gasps. This is when Tanuma notices an arrow sticking out of Ponta’s side. An arrow with a seal attached and the cause of the yōkai’s wavering form.

Hurriedly, Tanuma dislodges Natsume from Ponta. He holds him close, for lack of strength to carry him. Natsume’s head lolls into the crook of Tanuma’s neck as Ponta reverts to his feline form. He ushers Ponta in as he takes great care in dragging Natsume inside. They go to his room.

Once Natsume is settled in Tanuma’s futon, Tanuma immediately rears around to face Ponta. “What happened?” he asks. Worry pitches his voice high and loud. It is fortunate that his father isn’t here to investigate. Or maybe it is unfortunate since Natsume is injured.

“Natsume being a fool, that’s what. Getting us the attention of both an exorcist and a yōkai,” Ponta grumbles. Ungainly, he shuffles over to Natsume and begins to lick at his bleeding leg. Tanuma looks at him askance. “What?!” Ponta exclaims. “Shouldn’t you be getting bandages, twig boy? Unless you want twig boy no.1 here to bleed out!” At his final point, Ponta begins to glare at Tanuma with blood around his mouth.

Tanuma leaps into motion as he exits his room to find the first aid kit. He can only hope that the wound requires only ointment and dressing, because Tanuma isn’t ready to start a career in suturing. As bad as it sounds, Natsume probably just fainted from the shock of the wound. Otherwise, Ponta would have sought other help and been more aggressive in his protection.

When Tanuma returns to his room with kit in hand, he comes to the tail end of Ponta’s murmuring. “…Stupid boy. You can’t help everybody but yourself,” Ponta says.

Silently, Tanuma begins to apply ointment to Natsume’s wound. It isn’t exactly a small cut neither is it the gaping wound Tanuma had feared upon their entrance. With care, the wound should heal with only a cursory scar left behind. He gently winds the dressing around Natsume’s leg as Ponta stares doggedly at him, as if to warn him of terrible consequences should Natsume not recover.

“Maybe you should’ve gone to a hospital,” Tanuma frets. He secures the dressing with tape. All the while, Natsume is silent and unmoving, except for the rise and fall of his chest and the twitching of his eyes beneath his eyelids.

Ponta licks at a bloodied paw. “Before the idiot passed out on me, he said, ‘No hospital.’ And well, since he’s not dying…” Tanuma never wants to see a cat shrug again. The muscles…they just don’t work that way.

“You’re more softer on Natsume than I thought.”

“Hmph!” With no defense lined up, Ponta turns to bluster. Indifferently, he returns to his self-grooming. Tanuma returns to watching Natsume.

The room is quiet.


	5. extra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you are taking prompt, How about Natori taking Natsume to his actor job and ending being in a scene with him for some random role??

“Sensei, you really need to lose weight,” Takashi hisses. He briefly glances down at the rotund cat in his arms as he sprints after the indistinct shadow of a figure. Tall grass skims his calves as he continues his pursuit. Despite his well-honed stamina, even Takashi begins to slow down as his sprint continues without pause and Nyanko-sensei continues to be of no help. Nyanko-sensei either needs to lose weight or start walking by himself. Although the situation right now isn’t terribly urgent, Takashi still feels that Nyanko-sensei is definitely not pulling his own weight.

“My coat is just getting thicker in the winter, you idiot!” Nyanko-sensei protests.

“It’s summer!” Takashi exclaims. Abruptly, the sunlight shining down upon them becomes unbearable. He begins to notice the sweat pooling at the small of his back and at his armpits. The current conversation does not help in conserving his breath.

With a harrumph, Nyanko-sensei leaps out of Takashi’s arms as they approach a copse. The yōkai they are chasing is nowhere in sight. The only thing in sight are clusters of people and filmographic equipment.

Panting, Takashi comes to a bewildered stop as he takes in the sight of the crowd. They don’t feel like yōkai, but Takashi still doubts his intuition after so many years of ill treatment. He glances down at Nyanko-sensei in a silent question.

In response, Nyanko-sensei meows unconvincingly (a high, shrill noise) as a woman from the film crew takes notice of Takashi and quickly begins her approach.

“How did you get past security?” the woman in neat attire and a fearsome scowl questions. 

How did he get past security? Isn’t it obvious? Mutely, Takashi points behind him. He cranes his neck with the motion only to realize that the path he came from is nonexistent.

Nyanko-sensei once again meows innocently. The woman spares him a glance and promptly regrets looking at this unholy amalgamation of a cat and a pig.

The woman frowns but as she opens her mouth to speak, the approach of the main actor of this production forestalls any reprimands and demands to leave.

Blonde hair shines gold in the high noon sun and casts a shine to burgundy eyes. 

“Apologies, Mihara-san. I forgot to inform the crew about my friend coming in,” Natori says demurely. He supplements his words with a blinding smile. He even tosses in a sheepish ruffle of his hair.  _ Forgive me and ignore all oddities _ , his body pleads. 

“In fact,” Natori continues, “weren’t we short of an extra? Why not put my friend to good use?” He then hammers the point in home with an arm around Takashi’s shoulders. 

Takashi meets Natori’s sly glance with a scowl. He prods Nyanko-sensei’s shaking form with his foot. The barely suppressed laughter does not improve Takashi’s bewilderment and annoyance. 

“Natori-san, please…” Takashi pleads under his breath. Why couldn’t this have happened to Nishimura? At the offer, Nishimura probably would have died of a heart attack. It’s a churlish thought but Takashi does not feel that his sweaty, awkward body needs to lurk in the background of what is likely to be a popular film. 

It is Natsume’s sense of politeness that dooms him.

* * *

_ Months later... _

“Hey, hey,” Nishimura enthuses. “We should watch  _ Unloved _ !”

Kitamoto favors Nishimura with an indulgent look and a headshake. He allows Nishimura to hang off him as Nishimura gazes pleadingly at their friends.

“...Natori’s newest romcom?” Natsume ventures. He does not look at anybody, gazing at the ground.

Tanuma nudges Natsume as he and Taki exchange glances.

“I didn’t think you were as much of a fan as Nishimura,” Kitamoto comments.

“Don’t you remember? He’s  _ friends  _ with Natori Shuuichi!” Nishimura says. There is a hint of envy in his voice.

Natsume continues to avoid eye contact. There is something shifty in his closed-off body language. It is enough to worry Kitamoto but it doesn’t seem too serious since Tanuma and Taki have yet to take Natsume aside for one of their covert chats.

* * *

Half an hour into the movie  _ Unloved _ , the main male and female leads are ensconced in a restaurant. The light is dim and the candles are lit on the table. Natori Shuuichi’s character sultrily leans in to whisper to the woman in front of him. His attempt at sweet talk is interrupted by the arrival of a waiter.

The waiter has the gawky, unfinished look of a teenager. His golden hair and golden eyes add an odd charm to him. 

In the audience, a sudden wave of hushed whispers begins. The town is small enough that their cinema mostly has teenagers from the local high school in the audience.

“Eh?!” Nishimura exclaims. “You didn’t tell me you were in the movie, Natsume!”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Natsume mutters. It is clearly intentional that Natsume had no plans of telling anybody of his minor role as an extra.

Natsume winces as his shiny face is magnified by the huge screen. He watches his mouth deliver his lines and his brow furrows as he hears his voice echo loudly in the theater. 

“You’re a star now, Natsume,” Tanuma comments wryly. He surveys the whispering audience and the looks cast in their direction. It is obvious who the focus of gossip will be once the weekend ends.

Natsume groans as Nishimura continues to chatter. He can’t wait for the scene to end.

_ Natori Shuuichi...you awful, awful person. _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to constructive criticism (like dialogue, characterization, etc.) and very open to kudos and comments. 
> 
> Also on tumblr as [tunnelOFdawn](https://tunnelofdawn.tumblr.com/). I post fic previews and drabbles on there. Also, taking prompts there too.


End file.
